Sweet Oenone, do but sayLove thou dost, though love says nay.Speak me fair; for lovers beGently kill'd by flattery.
Sweet Oenone, do but sayLove thou dost, though love says nay.Speak me fair; for lovers beGently kill'd by flattery.
Sweet Oenone, do but sayLove thou dost, though love says nay.Speak me fair; for lovers beGently kill'd by flattery.
Who will not honour noble numbers, whenVerses out-live the bravest deeds of men?
Who will not honour noble numbers, whenVerses out-live the bravest deeds of men?
Who will not honour noble numbers, whenVerses out-live the bravest deeds of men?
That happiness does still the longest thrive,Where joys and griefs have turns alternative.
That happiness does still the longest thrive,Where joys and griefs have turns alternative.
That happiness does still the longest thrive,Where joys and griefs have turns alternative.
We pray 'gainst war, yet we enjoy no peace;Desire deferr'd is that it may increase.
We pray 'gainst war, yet we enjoy no peace;Desire deferr'd is that it may increase.
We pray 'gainst war, yet we enjoy no peace;Desire deferr'd is that it may increase.
Here I myself might likewise die,And utterly forgotten lie,But that eternal poetryRepullulation gives me hereUnto the thirtieth thousand year,When all now dead shall reappear.
Here I myself might likewise die,And utterly forgotten lie,But that eternal poetryRepullulation gives me hereUnto the thirtieth thousand year,When all now dead shall reappear.
Here I myself might likewise die,And utterly forgotten lie,But that eternal poetryRepullulation gives me hereUnto the thirtieth thousand year,When all now dead shall reappear.
Repullulation, rejuvenescence.Thirtieth thousand year, an allusion to the doctrine of the Platonic year.
Give me the food that satisfies a guest:Kisses are but dry banquets to a feast.
Give me the food that satisfies a guest:Kisses are but dry banquets to a feast.
Give me the food that satisfies a guest:Kisses are but dry banquets to a feast.
Orpheus he went, as poets tell,To fetch Eurydice from hell;And had her; but it was uponThis short but strict condition:Backward he should not look while heLed her through hell's obscurity:But ah! it happened, as he madeHis passage through that dreadful shade,Revolve he did his loving eye,For gentle fear or jealousy;And looking back, that look did severHim and Eurydice for ever.
Orpheus he went, as poets tell,To fetch Eurydice from hell;And had her; but it was uponThis short but strict condition:Backward he should not look while heLed her through hell's obscurity:But ah! it happened, as he madeHis passage through that dreadful shade,Revolve he did his loving eye,For gentle fear or jealousy;And looking back, that look did severHim and Eurydice for ever.
Orpheus he went, as poets tell,To fetch Eurydice from hell;And had her; but it was uponThis short but strict condition:Backward he should not look while heLed her through hell's obscurity:But ah! it happened, as he madeHis passage through that dreadful shade,Revolve he did his loving eye,For gentle fear or jealousy;And looking back, that look did severHim and Eurydice for ever.
Sappho, I will choose to goWhere the northern winds do blowEndless ice and endless snow:Rather than I once would seeBut a winter's face in thee,To benumb my hopes and me.
Sappho, I will choose to goWhere the northern winds do blowEndless ice and endless snow:Rather than I once would seeBut a winter's face in thee,To benumb my hopes and me.
Sappho, I will choose to goWhere the northern winds do blowEndless ice and endless snow:Rather than I once would seeBut a winter's face in thee,To benumb my hopes and me.
For all thy many courtesies to me,Nothing I have, my Crofts, to send to theeFor the requital, save this only oneHalf of my just remuneration.For since I've travell'd all this realm throughoutTo seek and find some few immortals outTo circumspangle this my spacious sphere,As lamps for everlasting shining here;And having fix'd thee in mine orb a star,Amongst the rest, both bright and singular,The present age will tell the world thou art,If not to th' whole, yet satisfi'd in part.As for the rest, being too great a sumHere to be paid, I'll pay't i' th' world to come.
For all thy many courtesies to me,Nothing I have, my Crofts, to send to theeFor the requital, save this only oneHalf of my just remuneration.For since I've travell'd all this realm throughoutTo seek and find some few immortals outTo circumspangle this my spacious sphere,As lamps for everlasting shining here;And having fix'd thee in mine orb a star,Amongst the rest, both bright and singular,The present age will tell the world thou art,If not to th' whole, yet satisfi'd in part.As for the rest, being too great a sumHere to be paid, I'll pay't i' th' world to come.
For all thy many courtesies to me,Nothing I have, my Crofts, to send to theeFor the requital, save this only oneHalf of my just remuneration.For since I've travell'd all this realm throughoutTo seek and find some few immortals outTo circumspangle this my spacious sphere,As lamps for everlasting shining here;And having fix'd thee in mine orb a star,Amongst the rest, both bright and singular,The present age will tell the world thou art,If not to th' whole, yet satisfi'd in part.As for the rest, being too great a sumHere to be paid, I'll pay't i' th' world to come.
This day, my Julia, thou must makeFor Mistress Bride the wedding-cake:Knead but the dough, and it will beTo paste of almonds turn'd by thee:Or kiss it thou but once or twice,And for the bride-cake there'll be spice.
This day, my Julia, thou must makeFor Mistress Bride the wedding-cake:Knead but the dough, and it will beTo paste of almonds turn'd by thee:Or kiss it thou but once or twice,And for the bride-cake there'll be spice.
This day, my Julia, thou must makeFor Mistress Bride the wedding-cake:Knead but the dough, and it will beTo paste of almonds turn'd by thee:Or kiss it thou but once or twice,And for the bride-cake there'll be spice.
Let's now take our timeWhile w'are in our prime,And old, old age is afar off:For the evil, evil daysWill come on apace,Before we can be aware of.
Let's now take our timeWhile w'are in our prime,And old, old age is afar off:For the evil, evil daysWill come on apace,Before we can be aware of.
Let's now take our timeWhile w'are in our prime,And old, old age is afar off:For the evil, evil daysWill come on apace,Before we can be aware of.
Man may want land to live in; but for allNature finds out some place for burial.
Man may want land to live in; but for allNature finds out some place for burial.
Man may want land to live in; but for allNature finds out some place for burial.
'Tis the Chirurgeon's praise, and height of art,Not to cut off, but cure the vicious part.
'Tis the Chirurgeon's praise, and height of art,Not to cut off, but cure the vicious part.
'Tis the Chirurgeon's praise, and height of art,Not to cut off, but cure the vicious part.
Who after his transgression doth repent,Is half, or altogether innocent.
Who after his transgression doth repent,Is half, or altogether innocent.
Who after his transgression doth repent,Is half, or altogether innocent.
Consider sorrows, how they are aright:Grief, if't be great, 'tis short; if long, 'tis light.
Consider sorrows, how they are aright:Grief, if't be great, 'tis short; if long, 'tis light.
Consider sorrows, how they are aright:Grief, if't be great, 'tis short; if long, 'tis light.
So look the mornings when the sunPaints them with fresh vermilion:So cherries blush, and Kathern pears,And apricots in youthful years:So corals look more lovely red,And rubies lately polished:So purest diaper doth shine,Stain'd by the beams of claret wine:As Julia looks when she doth dressHer either cheek with bashfulness.
So look the mornings when the sunPaints them with fresh vermilion:So cherries blush, and Kathern pears,And apricots in youthful years:So corals look more lovely red,And rubies lately polished:So purest diaper doth shine,Stain'd by the beams of claret wine:As Julia looks when she doth dressHer either cheek with bashfulness.
So look the mornings when the sunPaints them with fresh vermilion:So cherries blush, and Kathern pears,And apricots in youthful years:So corals look more lovely red,And rubies lately polished:So purest diaper doth shine,Stain'd by the beams of claret wine:As Julia looks when she doth dressHer either cheek with bashfulness.
Kathern pears,i.e., Catharine pears.
Imparity doth ever discord bring;The mean the music makes in everything.
Imparity doth ever discord bring;The mean the music makes in everything.
Imparity doth ever discord bring;The mean the music makes in everything.
Haste is unhappy; what we rashly doIs both unlucky, aye, and foolish, too.Where war with rashness is attempted, thereThe soldiers leave the field with equal fear.
Haste is unhappy; what we rashly doIs both unlucky, aye, and foolish, too.Where war with rashness is attempted, thereThe soldiers leave the field with equal fear.
Haste is unhappy; what we rashly doIs both unlucky, aye, and foolish, too.Where war with rashness is attempted, thereThe soldiers leave the field with equal fear.
Readers, we entreat ye prayFor the soul of Lucia;That in little time she beFrom her purgatory free:In the interim she desiresThat your tears may cool her fires.
Readers, we entreat ye prayFor the soul of Lucia;That in little time she beFrom her purgatory free:In the interim she desiresThat your tears may cool her fires.
Readers, we entreat ye prayFor the soul of Lucia;That in little time she beFrom her purgatory free:In the interim she desiresThat your tears may cool her fires.
Seest thou that cloud that rides in state,Part ruby-like, part candidate?It is no other than the bedWhere Venus sleeps half-smothered.
Seest thou that cloud that rides in state,Part ruby-like, part candidate?It is no other than the bedWhere Venus sleeps half-smothered.
Seest thou that cloud that rides in state,Part ruby-like, part candidate?It is no other than the bedWhere Venus sleeps half-smothered.
Candidate, robed in white.
I saw a fly within a beadOf amber cleanly buried;The urn was little, but the roomMore rich than Cleopatra's tomb.
I saw a fly within a beadOf amber cleanly buried;The urn was little, but the roomMore rich than Cleopatra's tomb.
I saw a fly within a beadOf amber cleanly buried;The urn was little, but the roomMore rich than Cleopatra's tomb.
Whene'er I go, or whatsoe'er befallsMe in mine age, or foreign funerals,This blessing I will leave thee, ere I go:Prosper thy basket and therein thy dough.Feed on the paste of filberts, or else kneadAnd bake the flour of amber for thy bread.Balm may thy trees drop, and thy springs run oil,And everlasting harvest crown thy soil!These I but wish for; but thyself shall seeThe blessing fall in mellow times on thee.
Whene'er I go, or whatsoe'er befallsMe in mine age, or foreign funerals,This blessing I will leave thee, ere I go:Prosper thy basket and therein thy dough.Feed on the paste of filberts, or else kneadAnd bake the flour of amber for thy bread.Balm may thy trees drop, and thy springs run oil,And everlasting harvest crown thy soil!These I but wish for; but thyself shall seeThe blessing fall in mellow times on thee.
Whene'er I go, or whatsoe'er befallsMe in mine age, or foreign funerals,This blessing I will leave thee, ere I go:Prosper thy basket and therein thy dough.Feed on the paste of filberts, or else kneadAnd bake the flour of amber for thy bread.Balm may thy trees drop, and thy springs run oil,And everlasting harvest crown thy soil!These I but wish for; but thyself shall seeThe blessing fall in mellow times on thee.
Immortal clothing I put onSo soon as, Julia, I am goneTo mine eternal mansion.Thou, thou art here, to human sightCloth'd all with incorrupted light;But yet how more admir'dly brightWilt thou appear, when thou art setIn thy refulgent thronelet,That shin'st thus in thy counterfeit!
Immortal clothing I put onSo soon as, Julia, I am goneTo mine eternal mansion.Thou, thou art here, to human sightCloth'd all with incorrupted light;But yet how more admir'dly brightWilt thou appear, when thou art setIn thy refulgent thronelet,That shin'st thus in thy counterfeit!
Immortal clothing I put onSo soon as, Julia, I am goneTo mine eternal mansion.Thou, thou art here, to human sightCloth'd all with incorrupted light;But yet how more admir'dly brightWilt thou appear, when thou art setIn thy refulgent thronelet,That shin'st thus in thy counterfeit!
Does fortune rend thee? Bear with thy hard fate:Virtuous instructions ne'er are delicate.Say, does she frown? still countermand her threats:Virtue best loves those children that she beats.
Does fortune rend thee? Bear with thy hard fate:Virtuous instructions ne'er are delicate.Say, does she frown? still countermand her threats:Virtue best loves those children that she beats.
Does fortune rend thee? Bear with thy hard fate:Virtuous instructions ne'er are delicate.Say, does she frown? still countermand her threats:Virtue best loves those children that she beats.
If I lie unburied, sir,These my relics pray inter:'Tis religion's part to seeStones or turfs to cover me.One word more I had to say:But it skills not; go your way;He that wants a burial roomFor a stone, has Heaven his tomb.
If I lie unburied, sir,These my relics pray inter:'Tis religion's part to seeStones or turfs to cover me.One word more I had to say:But it skills not; go your way;He that wants a burial roomFor a stone, has Heaven his tomb.
If I lie unburied, sir,These my relics pray inter:'Tis religion's part to seeStones or turfs to cover me.One word more I had to say:But it skills not; go your way;He that wants a burial roomFor a stone, has Heaven his tomb.
Religion's, orig. ed.religious.
This day is yours, great Charles! and in this warYour fate, and ours, alike victorious are.In her white stole now Victory does restEnsphered with palm on your triumphant crest.Fortune is now your captive; other KingsHold but her hands; you hold both hands and wings.
This day is yours, great Charles! and in this warYour fate, and ours, alike victorious are.In her white stole now Victory does restEnsphered with palm on your triumphant crest.Fortune is now your captive; other KingsHold but her hands; you hold both hands and wings.
This day is yours, great Charles! and in this warYour fate, and ours, alike victorious are.In her white stole now Victory does restEnsphered with palm on your triumphant crest.Fortune is now your captive; other KingsHold but her hands; you hold both hands and wings.
By the next kindling of the day,My Julia, thou shalt see,Ere Ave-Mary thou canst sayI'll come and visit thee.Yet ere thou counsel'st with thy glass,Appear thou to mine eyesAs smooth, and nak'd, as she that wasThe prime of paradise.If blush thou must, then blush thou throughA lawn, that thou mayst lookAs purest pearls, or pebbles doWhen peeping through a brook.As lilies shrin'd in crystal, soDo thou to me appear;Or damask roses when they growTo sweet acquaintance there.
By the next kindling of the day,My Julia, thou shalt see,Ere Ave-Mary thou canst sayI'll come and visit thee.Yet ere thou counsel'st with thy glass,Appear thou to mine eyesAs smooth, and nak'd, as she that wasThe prime of paradise.If blush thou must, then blush thou throughA lawn, that thou mayst lookAs purest pearls, or pebbles doWhen peeping through a brook.As lilies shrin'd in crystal, soDo thou to me appear;Or damask roses when they growTo sweet acquaintance there.
By the next kindling of the day,My Julia, thou shalt see,Ere Ave-Mary thou canst sayI'll come and visit thee.
Yet ere thou counsel'st with thy glass,Appear thou to mine eyesAs smooth, and nak'd, as she that wasThe prime of paradise.
If blush thou must, then blush thou throughA lawn, that thou mayst lookAs purest pearls, or pebbles doWhen peeping through a brook.
As lilies shrin'd in crystal, soDo thou to me appear;Or damask roses when they growTo sweet acquaintance there.
'Twas Cæsar's saying:Kings no less conquerors areBy their wise counsel, than they be by war.
'Twas Cæsar's saying:Kings no less conquerors areBy their wise counsel, than they be by war.
'Twas Cæsar's saying:Kings no less conquerors areBy their wise counsel, than they be by war.
Like those infernal deities which eatThe best of all the sacrificed meat;And leave their servants but the smoke and sweat:So many kings, and primates too there are,Who claim the fat and fleshy for their shareAnd leave their subjects but the starved ware.
Like those infernal deities which eatThe best of all the sacrificed meat;And leave their servants but the smoke and sweat:So many kings, and primates too there are,Who claim the fat and fleshy for their shareAnd leave their subjects but the starved ware.
Like those infernal deities which eatThe best of all the sacrificed meat;And leave their servants but the smoke and sweat:So many kings, and primates too there are,Who claim the fat and fleshy for their shareAnd leave their subjects but the starved ware.
In desp'rate cases all, or most, are knownCommanders, few for execution.
In desp'rate cases all, or most, are knownCommanders, few for execution.
In desp'rate cases all, or most, are knownCommanders, few for execution.
I could but see thee yesterdayStung by a fretful bee;And I the javelin suck'd away,And heal'd the wound in thee.A thousand thorns and briars and stings,I have in my poor breast;Yet ne'er can see that salve which bringsMy passions any rest.As love shall help me, I admireHow thou canst sit, and smileTo see me bleed, and not desireTo staunch the blood the while.If thou, compos'd of gentle mould,Art so unkind to me;What dismal stories will be toldOf those that cruel be?
I could but see thee yesterdayStung by a fretful bee;And I the javelin suck'd away,And heal'd the wound in thee.A thousand thorns and briars and stings,I have in my poor breast;Yet ne'er can see that salve which bringsMy passions any rest.As love shall help me, I admireHow thou canst sit, and smileTo see me bleed, and not desireTo staunch the blood the while.If thou, compos'd of gentle mould,Art so unkind to me;What dismal stories will be toldOf those that cruel be?
I could but see thee yesterdayStung by a fretful bee;And I the javelin suck'd away,And heal'd the wound in thee.
A thousand thorns and briars and stings,I have in my poor breast;Yet ne'er can see that salve which bringsMy passions any rest.
As love shall help me, I admireHow thou canst sit, and smileTo see me bleed, and not desireTo staunch the blood the while.
If thou, compos'd of gentle mould,Art so unkind to me;What dismal stories will be toldOf those that cruel be?
Admire, wonder.
All has been plundered from me but my wit:Fortune herself can lay no claim to it.
All has been plundered from me but my wit:Fortune herself can lay no claim to it.
All has been plundered from me but my wit:Fortune herself can lay no claim to it.
Milk still your fountains and your springs: for why?The more th'are drawn, the less they will grow dry.
Milk still your fountains and your springs: for why?The more th'are drawn, the less they will grow dry.
Milk still your fountains and your springs: for why?The more th'are drawn, the less they will grow dry.
Thou say'st Love's dartHath pricked thy heart;And thou dost languish too:If one poor prickCan make thee sick,Say, what would many do?
Thou say'st Love's dartHath pricked thy heart;And thou dost languish too:If one poor prickCan make thee sick,Say, what would many do?
Thou say'st Love's dartHath pricked thy heart;And thou dost languish too:If one poor prickCan make thee sick,Say, what would many do?
Shall I go to Love and tell,Thou art all turned icicle?Shall I say her altars beDisadorn'd and scorn'd by thee?O beware! in time submit;Love has yet no wrathful fit:If her patience turns to ire,Love is then consuming fire.
Shall I go to Love and tell,Thou art all turned icicle?Shall I say her altars beDisadorn'd and scorn'd by thee?O beware! in time submit;Love has yet no wrathful fit:If her patience turns to ire,Love is then consuming fire.
Shall I go to Love and tell,Thou art all turned icicle?Shall I say her altars beDisadorn'd and scorn'd by thee?O beware! in time submit;Love has yet no wrathful fit:If her patience turns to ire,Love is then consuming fire.
Ay me! I love; give him your hand to kissWho both your wooer and your poet is.Nature has precompos'd us both to love:Your part's to grant; my scene must be to move.Dear, can you like, and liking love your poet?If you say "Aye," blush-guiltiness will show it.Mine eyes must woo you, though I sigh the while:True love is tongueless as a crocodile.And you may find in love these different parts—Wooers have tongues of ice, but burning hearts.
Ay me! I love; give him your hand to kissWho both your wooer and your poet is.Nature has precompos'd us both to love:Your part's to grant; my scene must be to move.Dear, can you like, and liking love your poet?If you say "Aye," blush-guiltiness will show it.Mine eyes must woo you, though I sigh the while:True love is tongueless as a crocodile.And you may find in love these different parts—Wooers have tongues of ice, but burning hearts.
Ay me! I love; give him your hand to kissWho both your wooer and your poet is.Nature has precompos'd us both to love:Your part's to grant; my scene must be to move.Dear, can you like, and liking love your poet?If you say "Aye," blush-guiltiness will show it.Mine eyes must woo you, though I sigh the while:True love is tongueless as a crocodile.And you may find in love these different parts—Wooers have tongues of ice, but burning hearts.
Here she lies, in bed of spice,Fair as Eve in Paradise:For her beauty it was suchPoets could not praise too much.Virgins, come, and in a ringHer supremest requiem sing;Then depart, but see ye treadLightly, lightly, o'er the dead.
Here she lies, in bed of spice,Fair as Eve in Paradise:For her beauty it was suchPoets could not praise too much.Virgins, come, and in a ringHer supremest requiem sing;Then depart, but see ye treadLightly, lightly, o'er the dead.
Here she lies, in bed of spice,Fair as Eve in Paradise:For her beauty it was suchPoets could not praise too much.Virgins, come, and in a ringHer supremest requiem sing;Then depart, but see ye treadLightly, lightly, o'er the dead.
Supremest, last.
Love is a circle, and an endless sphere;From good to good, revolving here and there.
Love is a circle, and an endless sphere;From good to good, revolving here and there.
Love is a circle, and an endless sphere;From good to good, revolving here and there.
Beauty's no other but a lovely graceOf lively colours flowing from the face.
Beauty's no other but a lovely graceOf lively colours flowing from the face.
Beauty's no other but a lovely graceOf lively colours flowing from the face.
Some salve to every sore we may apply;Only for my wound there's no remedy.Yet if my Julia kiss me, there will beA sovereign balm found out to cure me.
Some salve to every sore we may apply;Only for my wound there's no remedy.Yet if my Julia kiss me, there will beA sovereign balm found out to cure me.
Some salve to every sore we may apply;Only for my wound there's no remedy.Yet if my Julia kiss me, there will beA sovereign balm found out to cure me.
Make haste away, and let one beA friendly patron unto thee:Lest, rapt from hence, I see thee lieTorn for the use of pastery:Or see thy injur'd leaves serve well,To make loose gowns for mackerel:Or see the grocers in a trice,Make hoods of thee to serve out spice.
Make haste away, and let one beA friendly patron unto thee:Lest, rapt from hence, I see thee lieTorn for the use of pastery:Or see thy injur'd leaves serve well,To make loose gowns for mackerel:Or see the grocers in a trice,Make hoods of thee to serve out spice.
Make haste away, and let one beA friendly patron unto thee:Lest, rapt from hence, I see thee lieTorn for the use of pastery:Or see thy injur'd leaves serve well,To make loose gowns for mackerel:Or see the grocers in a trice,Make hoods of thee to serve out spice.
The readiness of doing doth expressNo other but the doer's willingness.
The readiness of doing doth expressNo other but the doer's willingness.
The readiness of doing doth expressNo other but the doer's willingness.
When words we want, Love teacheth to indite;And what we blush to speak, she bids us write.
When words we want, Love teacheth to indite;And what we blush to speak, she bids us write.
When words we want, Love teacheth to indite;And what we blush to speak, she bids us write.
Two things do make society to stand:The first commerce is, and the next command.
Two things do make society to stand:The first commerce is, and the next command.
Two things do make society to stand:The first commerce is, and the next command.
Gone she is a long, long way,But she has decreed a dayBack to come, and make no stay:So we keep, till her return,Here, her ashes, or her urn.
Gone she is a long, long way,But she has decreed a dayBack to come, and make no stay:So we keep, till her return,Here, her ashes, or her urn.
Gone she is a long, long way,But she has decreed a dayBack to come, and make no stay:So we keep, till her return,Here, her ashes, or her urn.
For all our works a recompense is sure:'Tis sweet to think on what was hard t' endure.
For all our works a recompense is sure:'Tis sweet to think on what was hard t' endure.
For all our works a recompense is sure:'Tis sweet to think on what was hard t' endure.
Why so slowly do you moveTo the centre of your love?On your niceness though we wait,Yet the hours say 'tis late:Coyness takes us, to a measure;But o'eracted deads the pleasure.Go to bed, and care not whenCheerful day shall spring again.One brave captain did command,By his word, the sun to stand:One short charm, if you but say,Will enforce the moon to stay,Till you warn her hence, away,T' have your blushes seen by day.
Why so slowly do you moveTo the centre of your love?On your niceness though we wait,Yet the hours say 'tis late:Coyness takes us, to a measure;But o'eracted deads the pleasure.Go to bed, and care not whenCheerful day shall spring again.One brave captain did command,By his word, the sun to stand:One short charm, if you but say,Will enforce the moon to stay,Till you warn her hence, away,T' have your blushes seen by day.
Why so slowly do you moveTo the centre of your love?On your niceness though we wait,Yet the hours say 'tis late:Coyness takes us, to a measure;But o'eracted deads the pleasure.Go to bed, and care not whenCheerful day shall spring again.One brave captain did command,By his word, the sun to stand:One short charm, if you but say,Will enforce the moon to stay,Till you warn her hence, away,T' have your blushes seen by day.
Niceness, delicacy.
Touch but thy lyre, my Harry, and I hearFrom thee some raptures of the rare Gotiere;Then if thy voice commingle with the string,I hear in thee rare Laniere to sing;Or curious Wilson: tell me, canst thou beLess than Apollo, that usurp'st such three?Three, unto whom the whole world give applause;Yet their three praises praise but one; that's Lawes.
Touch but thy lyre, my Harry, and I hearFrom thee some raptures of the rare Gotiere;Then if thy voice commingle with the string,I hear in thee rare Laniere to sing;Or curious Wilson: tell me, canst thou beLess than Apollo, that usurp'st such three?Three, unto whom the whole world give applause;Yet their three praises praise but one; that's Lawes.
Touch but thy lyre, my Harry, and I hearFrom thee some raptures of the rare Gotiere;Then if thy voice commingle with the string,I hear in thee rare Laniere to sing;Or curious Wilson: tell me, canst thou beLess than Apollo, that usurp'st such three?Three, unto whom the whole world give applause;Yet their three praises praise but one; that's Lawes.
Gotiere, Wilson, see above,111.Laniere, Nicholas Laniere (1590?-1670?), musician and painter, appointed Master of the King's Music in 1626.
Maidens tell me I am old;Let me in my glass beholdWhether smooth or not I be,Or if hair remains to me.Well, or be't or be't not so,This for certainty I know,Ill it fits old men to play,When that Death bids come away.
Maidens tell me I am old;Let me in my glass beholdWhether smooth or not I be,Or if hair remains to me.Well, or be't or be't not so,This for certainty I know,Ill it fits old men to play,When that Death bids come away.
Maidens tell me I am old;Let me in my glass beholdWhether smooth or not I be,Or if hair remains to me.Well, or be't or be't not so,This for certainty I know,Ill it fits old men to play,When that Death bids come away.
Thou hast made many houses for the dead;When my lot calls me to be buried,For love or pity, prithee let there beI' th' churchyard made one tenement for me.
Thou hast made many houses for the dead;When my lot calls me to be buried,For love or pity, prithee let there beI' th' churchyard made one tenement for me.
Thou hast made many houses for the dead;When my lot calls me to be buried,For love or pity, prithee let there beI' th' churchyard made one tenement for me.
Anthea, I am going henceWith some small stock of innocence:But yet those blessed gates I seeWithstanding entrance unto me.To pray for me do thou begin,The porter then will let me in.
Anthea, I am going henceWith some small stock of innocence:But yet those blessed gates I seeWithstanding entrance unto me.To pray for me do thou begin,The porter then will let me in.
Anthea, I am going henceWith some small stock of innocence:But yet those blessed gates I seeWithstanding entrance unto me.To pray for me do thou begin,The porter then will let me in.
Who begs to die for fear of human need,Wisheth his body, not his soul, good speed.
Who begs to die for fear of human need,Wisheth his body, not his soul, good speed.
Who begs to die for fear of human need,Wisheth his body, not his soul, good speed.
I am zealless; prithee prayFor my welfare, Julia,For I think the gods requireMale perfumes, but female fire.
I am zealless; prithee prayFor my welfare, Julia,For I think the gods requireMale perfumes, but female fire.
I am zealless; prithee prayFor my welfare, Julia,For I think the gods requireMale perfumes, but female fire.
Male perfumes, perfumes of the best kind.
Sweet are my Julia's lips and clean,As if o'erwashed in Hippocrene.
Sweet are my Julia's lips and clean,As if o'erwashed in Hippocrene.
Sweet are my Julia's lips and clean,As if o'erwashed in Hippocrene.
Twilight no other thing is, poets say,Than the last part of night and first of day.
Twilight no other thing is, poets say,Than the last part of night and first of day.
Twilight no other thing is, poets say,Than the last part of night and first of day.
Love, love me now, because I placeThee here among my righteous race:The bastard slips may droop and dieWanting both root and earth; but thyImmortal self shall boldly trustTo live for ever with my Just.
Love, love me now, because I placeThee here among my righteous race:The bastard slips may droop and dieWanting both root and earth; but thyImmortal self shall boldly trustTo live for ever with my Just.
Love, love me now, because I placeThee here among my righteous race:The bastard slips may droop and dieWanting both root and earth; but thyImmortal self shall boldly trustTo live for ever with my Just.
With my Just, cp.664.
If that my fate has now fulfill'd my year,And so soon stopt my longer living here;What was't, ye gods, a dying man to save,But while he met with his paternal grave!Though while we living 'bout the world do roam,We love to rest in peaceful urns at home,Where we may snug, and close together lieBy the dead bones of our dear ancestry.
If that my fate has now fulfill'd my year,And so soon stopt my longer living here;What was't, ye gods, a dying man to save,But while he met with his paternal grave!Though while we living 'bout the world do roam,We love to rest in peaceful urns at home,Where we may snug, and close together lieBy the dead bones of our dear ancestry.
If that my fate has now fulfill'd my year,And so soon stopt my longer living here;What was't, ye gods, a dying man to save,But while he met with his paternal grave!Though while we living 'bout the world do roam,We love to rest in peaceful urns at home,Where we may snug, and close together lieBy the dead bones of our dear ancestry.
'Twixt kings and tyrants there's this difference known:Kings seek their subjects' good, tyrants their own.
'Twixt kings and tyrants there's this difference known:Kings seek their subjects' good, tyrants their own.
'Twixt kings and tyrants there's this difference known:Kings seek their subjects' good, tyrants their own.
Our crosses are no other than the rods,And our diseases, vultures of the gods:Each grief we feel, that likewise is a kiteSent forth by them, our flesh to eat, or bite.
Our crosses are no other than the rods,And our diseases, vultures of the gods:Each grief we feel, that likewise is a kiteSent forth by them, our flesh to eat, or bite.
Our crosses are no other than the rods,And our diseases, vultures of the gods:Each grief we feel, that likewise is a kiteSent forth by them, our flesh to eat, or bite.
Love brought me to a silent groveAnd show'd me there a tree,Where some had hang'd themselves for love,And gave a twist to me.The halter was of silk and gold,That he reach'd forth unto me;No otherwise than if he wouldBy dainty things undo me.He bade me then that necklace use;And told me, too, he makethA glorious end by such a noose,His death for love that taketh.'Twas but a dream; but had I beenThere really alone,My desp'rate fears in love had seenMine execution.
Love brought me to a silent groveAnd show'd me there a tree,Where some had hang'd themselves for love,And gave a twist to me.The halter was of silk and gold,That he reach'd forth unto me;No otherwise than if he wouldBy dainty things undo me.He bade me then that necklace use;And told me, too, he makethA glorious end by such a noose,His death for love that taketh.'Twas but a dream; but had I beenThere really alone,My desp'rate fears in love had seenMine execution.
Love brought me to a silent groveAnd show'd me there a tree,Where some had hang'd themselves for love,And gave a twist to me.
The halter was of silk and gold,That he reach'd forth unto me;No otherwise than if he wouldBy dainty things undo me.
He bade me then that necklace use;And told me, too, he makethA glorious end by such a noose,His death for love that taketh.
'Twas but a dream; but had I beenThere really alone,My desp'rate fears in love had seenMine execution.
Night makes no difference 'twixt the priest and clerk;Joan as my lady is as good i' th' dark.
Night makes no difference 'twixt the priest and clerk;Joan as my lady is as good i' th' dark.
Night makes no difference 'twixt the priest and clerk;Joan as my lady is as good i' th' dark.
The body is the soul's poor house or home,Whose ribs the laths are, and whose flesh the loam.
The body is the soul's poor house or home,Whose ribs the laths are, and whose flesh the loam.
The body is the soul's poor house or home,Whose ribs the laths are, and whose flesh the loam.
Thou say'st thou lov'st me, Sappho; I say no;But would to Love I could believe 'twas so!Pardon my fears, sweet Sappho; I desireThat thou be righteous found, and I the liar.
Thou say'st thou lov'st me, Sappho; I say no;But would to Love I could believe 'twas so!Pardon my fears, sweet Sappho; I desireThat thou be righteous found, and I the liar.
Thou say'st thou lov'st me, Sappho; I say no;But would to Love I could believe 'twas so!Pardon my fears, sweet Sappho; I desireThat thou be righteous found, and I the liar.
We blame, nay, we despise her painsThat wets her garden when it rains:But when the drought has dried the knot,Then let her use the wat'ring-pot.We pray for showers, at our need,To drench, but not to drown our seed.
We blame, nay, we despise her painsThat wets her garden when it rains:But when the drought has dried the knot,Then let her use the wat'ring-pot.We pray for showers, at our need,To drench, but not to drown our seed.
We blame, nay, we despise her painsThat wets her garden when it rains:But when the drought has dried the knot,Then let her use the wat'ring-pot.We pray for showers, at our need,To drench, but not to drown our seed.
Knot, quaintly shaped flower-bed.
Take mine advice, and go not nearThose faces, sour as vinegar.For these, and nobler numbers canNe'er please the supercilious man.
Take mine advice, and go not nearThose faces, sour as vinegar.For these, and nobler numbers canNe'er please the supercilious man.
Take mine advice, and go not nearThose faces, sour as vinegar.For these, and nobler numbers canNe'er please the supercilious man.
Stand by the magic of my powerful rhymes'Gainst all the indignation of the times.Age shall not wrong thee; or one jot abateOf thy both great and everlasting fate.While others perish, here's thy life decreed,Because begot of my immortal seed.
Stand by the magic of my powerful rhymes'Gainst all the indignation of the times.Age shall not wrong thee; or one jot abateOf thy both great and everlasting fate.While others perish, here's thy life decreed,Because begot of my immortal seed.
Stand by the magic of my powerful rhymes'Gainst all the indignation of the times.Age shall not wrong thee; or one jot abateOf thy both great and everlasting fate.While others perish, here's thy life decreed,Because begot of my immortal seed.
Herr.Come and let's in solemn wiseBoth address to sacrifice:Old religion first commandsThat we wash our hearts, and hands.Is the beast exempt from stain,Altar clean, no fire profane?Are the garlands, is the nardReady here?Jul.All well prepar'd,With the wine that must be shed,'Twixt the horns, upon the headOf the holy beast we bringFor our trespass-offering.Herr.All is well; now next to thesePut we on pure surplices;And with chaplets crown'd, we'll roastWith perfumes the holocaust:And, while we the gods invoke,Read acceptance by the smoke.
Herr.Come and let's in solemn wiseBoth address to sacrifice:Old religion first commandsThat we wash our hearts, and hands.Is the beast exempt from stain,Altar clean, no fire profane?Are the garlands, is the nardReady here?Jul.All well prepar'd,With the wine that must be shed,'Twixt the horns, upon the headOf the holy beast we bringFor our trespass-offering.Herr.All is well; now next to thesePut we on pure surplices;And with chaplets crown'd, we'll roastWith perfumes the holocaust:And, while we the gods invoke,Read acceptance by the smoke.
Herr.Come and let's in solemn wiseBoth address to sacrifice:Old religion first commandsThat we wash our hearts, and hands.Is the beast exempt from stain,Altar clean, no fire profane?Are the garlands, is the nardReady here?
Jul.All well prepar'd,With the wine that must be shed,'Twixt the horns, upon the headOf the holy beast we bringFor our trespass-offering.
Herr.All is well; now next to thesePut we on pure surplices;And with chaplets crown'd, we'll roastWith perfumes the holocaust:And, while we the gods invoke,Read acceptance by the smoke.
Thou mighty lord and master of the lyre,Unshorn Apollo, come and re-inspireMy fingers so, the lyric-strings to move,That I may play and sing a hymn to Love.
Thou mighty lord and master of the lyre,Unshorn Apollo, come and re-inspireMy fingers so, the lyric-strings to move,That I may play and sing a hymn to Love.
Thou mighty lord and master of the lyre,Unshorn Apollo, come and re-inspireMy fingers so, the lyric-strings to move,That I may play and sing a hymn to Love.
Love is a kind of war: hence those who fear!No cowards must his royal ensigns bear.
Love is a kind of war: hence those who fear!No cowards must his royal ensigns bear.
Love is a kind of war: hence those who fear!No cowards must his royal ensigns bear.
Where love begins, there dead thy first desire:A spark neglected makes a mighty fire.
Where love begins, there dead thy first desire:A spark neglected makes a mighty fire.
Where love begins, there dead thy first desire:A spark neglected makes a mighty fire.
Thou, thou that bear'st the sway,With whom the sea-nymphs play;And Venus, every way:When I embrace thy knee,And make short pray'rs to thee,In love then prosper me.This day I go to woo;Instruct me how to doThis work thou put'st me to.From shame my face keep free;From scorn I beg of thee,Love, to deliver me:So shall I sing thy praise,And to thee altars raise,Unto the end of days.
Thou, thou that bear'st the sway,With whom the sea-nymphs play;And Venus, every way:When I embrace thy knee,And make short pray'rs to thee,In love then prosper me.This day I go to woo;Instruct me how to doThis work thou put'st me to.From shame my face keep free;From scorn I beg of thee,Love, to deliver me:So shall I sing thy praise,And to thee altars raise,Unto the end of days.
Thou, thou that bear'st the sway,With whom the sea-nymphs play;And Venus, every way:When I embrace thy knee,And make short pray'rs to thee,In love then prosper me.This day I go to woo;Instruct me how to doThis work thou put'st me to.From shame my face keep free;From scorn I beg of thee,Love, to deliver me:So shall I sing thy praise,And to thee altars raise,Unto the end of days.
Let not thy tombstone e'er be laid by me:Nor let my hearse be wept upon by thee:But let that instant when thou diest be knownThe minute of mine expiration.One knell be rung for both; and let one graveTo hold us two an endless honour have.
Let not thy tombstone e'er be laid by me:Nor let my hearse be wept upon by thee:But let that instant when thou diest be knownThe minute of mine expiration.One knell be rung for both; and let one graveTo hold us two an endless honour have.
Let not thy tombstone e'er be laid by me:Nor let my hearse be wept upon by thee:But let that instant when thou diest be knownThe minute of mine expiration.One knell be rung for both; and let one graveTo hold us two an endless honour have.
My soul would one day go and seekFor roses, and in Julia's cheekA richesse of those sweets she found,As in another Rosamond.But gathering roses as she was,Not knowing what would come to pass,It chanc'd a ringlet of her hairCaught my poor soul, as in a snare:Which ever since has been in thrall;Yet freedom she enjoys withal.
My soul would one day go and seekFor roses, and in Julia's cheekA richesse of those sweets she found,As in another Rosamond.But gathering roses as she was,Not knowing what would come to pass,It chanc'd a ringlet of her hairCaught my poor soul, as in a snare:Which ever since has been in thrall;Yet freedom she enjoys withal.
My soul would one day go and seekFor roses, and in Julia's cheekA richesse of those sweets she found,As in another Rosamond.But gathering roses as she was,Not knowing what would come to pass,It chanc'd a ringlet of her hairCaught my poor soul, as in a snare:Which ever since has been in thrall;Yet freedom she enjoys withal.
Richesse, wealth.
The factions of the great ones call,To side with them, the commons all.
The factions of the great ones call,To side with them, the commons all.
The factions of the great ones call,To side with them, the commons all.
Tell me, what needs those rich deceits,These golden toils, and trammel nets,To take thine hairs when they are knownAlready tame, and all thine own?'Tis I am wild, and more than hairsDeserve these meshes and those snares.Set free thy tresses, let them flowAs airs do breathe or winds do blow:And let such curious net-works beLess set for them than spread for me.
Tell me, what needs those rich deceits,These golden toils, and trammel nets,To take thine hairs when they are knownAlready tame, and all thine own?'Tis I am wild, and more than hairsDeserve these meshes and those snares.Set free thy tresses, let them flowAs airs do breathe or winds do blow:And let such curious net-works beLess set for them than spread for me.
Tell me, what needs those rich deceits,These golden toils, and trammel nets,To take thine hairs when they are knownAlready tame, and all thine own?'Tis I am wild, and more than hairsDeserve these meshes and those snares.Set free thy tresses, let them flowAs airs do breathe or winds do blow:And let such curious net-works beLess set for them than spread for me.
Love in a shower of blossoms cameDown, and half drown'd me with the same:The blooms that fell were white and red;But with such sweets comminglèd,As whether—this I cannot tell—My sight was pleas'd more, or my smell:But true it was, as I roll'd there,Without a thought of hurt or fear,Love turn'd himself into a bee,And with his javelin wounded me:From which mishap this use I make,Where most sweets are, there lies a snake:Kisses and favours are sweet things;But those have thorns and these have stings.
Love in a shower of blossoms cameDown, and half drown'd me with the same:The blooms that fell were white and red;But with such sweets comminglèd,As whether—this I cannot tell—My sight was pleas'd more, or my smell:But true it was, as I roll'd there,Without a thought of hurt or fear,Love turn'd himself into a bee,And with his javelin wounded me:From which mishap this use I make,Where most sweets are, there lies a snake:Kisses and favours are sweet things;But those have thorns and these have stings.
Love in a shower of blossoms cameDown, and half drown'd me with the same:The blooms that fell were white and red;But with such sweets comminglèd,As whether—this I cannot tell—My sight was pleas'd more, or my smell:But true it was, as I roll'd there,Without a thought of hurt or fear,Love turn'd himself into a bee,And with his javelin wounded me:From which mishap this use I make,Where most sweets are, there lies a snake:Kisses and favours are sweet things;But those have thorns and these have stings.
Naught are all women: I say no,Since for one bad, one good I know:For Clytemnestra most unkind,Loving Alcestis there we find:For one Medea that was bad,A good Penelope was had:For wanton Lais, then we haveChaste Lucrece, a wife as grave:And thus through womankind we seeA good and bad. Sirs, credit me.
Naught are all women: I say no,Since for one bad, one good I know:For Clytemnestra most unkind,Loving Alcestis there we find:For one Medea that was bad,A good Penelope was had:For wanton Lais, then we haveChaste Lucrece, a wife as grave:And thus through womankind we seeA good and bad. Sirs, credit me.
Naught are all women: I say no,Since for one bad, one good I know:For Clytemnestra most unkind,Loving Alcestis there we find:For one Medea that was bad,A good Penelope was had:For wanton Lais, then we haveChaste Lucrece, a wife as grave:And thus through womankind we seeA good and bad. Sirs, credit me.